World War Z: Tip of the Spear
by Robert H. Gordon Jr
Summary: A young soldier is recruited by an enigmatic government agent to join a shadow war against a new and deadly enemy. This story follows the formation and initial operation of an Alpha Team.
1. Chapter 1

World War Z: Tip of the Spear

By Robert H. Gordon Jr.

The rustle of cloth and the quiet clink of metal against metal were just a few of the sounds as a team of four soldiers prepared to enter an enemy-held structure. The soles of their boots tapped against the concrete beneath them as they moved into position. Their task was to clear the structure of hostiles and avoid civilian casualties. Command was clear with regard to their role on the battlefield. Their performance would have resounding ramifications.

The lead soldier stepped to the closed wooden door. He carefully placed his shoulder against the wall at his right. His grip on his weapon increased as his heart rate spiked. He could feel the sweat soaking the uniform beneath his armor and saw it slide down his nose before dripping to the floor. It was the third mission under his command and his leadership skills were in question.

There was a tap at his shoulder from his second-in-command. Not a prompt, but a calming gesture that eased his frayed nerves. His troops had his six. He closed his eyes and let out a calming breath. There was nothing to it, but to do it. He held up a hand getting his team's attention and silently counted down from three.

At "one", he kicked in the door and rushed inside the building feeling his squad move with him. As he passed through the door he registered movement at his right. A rifle barked and the target dropped. Ahead a threat presented itself and he neutralized it. There was a flurry of motion behind him for a few seconds and then his unit announced that the room was clear.

The soldier in the lead advanced to an open doorway with his team close behind. They lined up in stacked formation. Lead covering the door with the Two-man backing him up. Three was scanning the room for any hostiles they might have missed while Four kept her weapon trained on their entry point. It was so far, so good.

Lead risked a glance into the next room where he quickly sized up the situation. The room was a large square with two exits off to the left, two exits ahead with one at an angle, and a single exit to the right. With one more danger area than he had soldiers someone was pulling twice the load. Still using silent hand signals he gave his orders. After another three-count they rushed inside.

Lead went forward, covering the exit directly in front. Two covered the angled entrance ahead and the one at ninety degrees to his right shooting down two targets. Three was also on double duty covering the exits at the left but he had only one target to deal with. Four stepped through last and immediately spun around to cover their rear. She backed in the rest of the way.

Glancing over her shoulder to check her position she caught motion from the corner of her eye. Her head snapped around as her weapon slid into position. Her finger tensed on the trigger but the automated motion was stayed the instant she realized that the "threat" was a small child. Tense, her body relaxed but only slightly. Hearing her comrades sounding off she knew they were only halfway there.

"Stairs," Lead called. "Four take point. Two move to cover. Three take rear." He stepped to the next entrance and took up a position to one side with Two while Four stood directly in front and Three covered their six. The stairs descended into a dark room. Anything could be down there.

Digging into a pouch on his vest he removed a flash-bang grenade. He held it over his shoulder and felt Two pull the pin. His grip eased and the spoon flipped away. Counting through gritted teeth he let the explosive cook for a few moments before tossing it down the stairs. It banked off the wall of the stairwell and clattered deep into the room.

There was a chest-rattling whump with a blast of light that was bright behind clenched eyelids. Four disappeared down the steps a second later closely followed by Two. Lead waited anxiously, hearing gunfire coming from below. His eyes still on the stairs he gave the order to move and hustled down with Three close behind him.

Below, the room was a mess of destroyed furniture and neutralized targets. Four and Two were covering the exits. They simultaneously called an all-clear as Lead and Three arrived. Waving his finger around in a circle by his ear, Lead continued past Four and Two toward the final doorway. The team rallied up in their original positions.

The way was shut this time. There would be no knowing where the dangers could or would come from. It was a crap shoot. Lead signed the letter "Z". It was a command specifically for his team. It meant they would be running a "zone" defense. The group would go through together covering the area within forty-five degrees in front of them, Lead in front, Four in the rear, Two covering the right, and Three covering the left.

"One" was reached and Lead kicked the door open. The team burst outside into a small courtyard. The number of attack angles was infinite. A Humvee marked their extraction point ahead. Then the shooting started. The instinct to find cover caused their formation to widen but only slightly. They corrected their course and stayed together. Threats were located and quickly neutralized. It took them less than ten seconds to cross the yard and make it to the Humvee. They moved around it, climbing inside and slamming the doors.

"TIME!"

Massive spotlights kicked on revealing the area to be contained inside a larger building. Men in military uniforms, the proctors of the examination, appeared from behind protective shielding. The team emerged from the Humvee and got into formation in front of the vehicle. They snapped to attention before switching crisply to parade-rest. The lead proctor was reviewing information on a clipboard. Using a pen the man crisply made a note and flicked the board behind his back. He marched down the formation, eyeing the soldiers before sharply turning and marching back up to the leader of the group. He stood with him, nose-to-nose.

"On the command of 'fall-out', you and your team will report to the rear for weapons check and debrief," the proctor said. He stepped back, "Squad ten-HUT, fall-out!"

Z

Above the training floor in a darkened office, two men stood at a window. One of them was the commanding officer of the troops in training; the other was dressed in black combat fatigues. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture a testament to military service. Also indicative was his short haircut. Only his beard and lack of insignia seemed out of place. He watched as the last group to move through the course disappeared through a side door. The other man in the room said something.

"I'm sorry sir, what?"

The Army Captain sighed and shook his head. "I asked you what you thought. Christ, man will you ever change?"

The man in black laughed. "How long have you known me, Frank?"

"Too damned long," Frank Grimes replied. He sighed and ran a wrinkled hand over his aging face. "That was the last of our more exceptional soldiers. The rest are just high-speed."

"They haven't mastered the low-drag bit, eh?" He turned back to the window. "Get the course prepped. I'll handle the briefing."

"Excuse me?" Frank asked with a raised eyebrow. "Since when are you giving _me_ orders?"

"Pretty please with sugar on top, _sir_," the man said with a smile.

Z

It was a complete one-eighty for the team from the range. Gone were the steely gazes and icy nerves. What remained was a jovial levity that brought easy smiles and laughter. The trio of men and their single female compatriot shared inner observations and feelings experienced during the exercise. It was their second live-fire. They had one more and they could, potentially, graduate. That is, if they had passed this one.

"So how do you think we did?" asked Three, Army Private E-2 Gary Smalls. He broke open his weapon, an M-4 carbine and began cleaning out the inside of the breech.

"We made good time," answered, Four Private First-Class Moira Wagner. Red hair, freckles, and cherubic looks, she was all business as she serviced her rifle. "We kept moving. All the targets were eliminated and there weren't any civilian casualties."

"Well the one in the basement was a little charred," said Two, Specialist Cory Jackson corrected. "That flash-bang went off at his feet."

Moira shook her head, "There was no way to know who was where. They were nestled among the hostiles. We go down without the 'shock and awe' and we'd get cut to pieces. It's unfortunate but shit happens. She turned to the last member of their team. "Nate made the right call."

Lead, also known as Specialist Nathan George, looked up from the pieces of his weapon. "I know it was the right call, but if it keeps us from passing this course then it was wrong."

"If it was the right call, then they won't hold it against us," Jackson said. "We'll be fine." He looked up as the door opened. His eyes registered brass and he shot to his feet. "Squad ten-HUT!"

"Stand easy," Captain Grimes said as he and the man in black entered the room. He waited until the four soldiers settled back in their seats. "I just passed by your instructors. They've given you a 'go' on this last run. You all came within a cunt-hair of beating the course record." He quickly remembered the female soldier and held up a hand, "My apologies, Private."

"None needed sir," Moira said. "I'm pissed we came up short."

"Do you think you could do better?"

Moira looked to the newcomer. His uniform was crisp but his stance and his bearing spoke of field experience. His chestnut features were neutral but his dark eyes bored into hers. The look was not challenging, just observing. She met his gaze head-on. "Yes sir, we can."

"Permission to speak freely, sir," Jackson asked.

"Granted," the man replied.

"Who are you?"

"You may call me Cleric," the man said. "Since the next question is obvious, I want you to run the course again."

Smalls assembled his weapon, "Let's do it."

"Understand that this will have no bearing on your previous run," Captain Grimes explained. "Think of it as a bonus round."

"What do we get if we pass, sir?" Moira asked.

"Pass first," Cleric said, "and then we'll talk."

Nathan stirred, "Sit-rep?"

"Same as before," Cleric stated. "You will traverse the combat zone and eliminate every enemy target. Each one of you will be responsible for the termination of five hostiles. You will be given magazines with seven rounds of ammunition."

"What?" Smalls asked.

"Only headshots count," Cleric said.

"Sir," Jackson asked of the Captain.

"Game-face on soldier," Captain Grimes replied.

"Failure to eliminate all the targets results in a 'no-go'," Cleric said. "Complete depletion of your ammunition results in a 'no-go'. What is the course record?"

"Two minutes, ten seconds," Captain Grimes said.

"What was their time?"

"Two minutes, fifteen seconds."

"A nanosecond longer than one minute forty-five results in a 'no-go'," Cleric said. "You have five minutes to prep." He turned on his heel and stalked through the door.

Captain Grimes looked at the bewilderment on the faces of his troops. "You heard the man, get it in gear. Four-and-change until you're back on the line!"

Z

A short time later, Cleric was alone in the observation room staring down at the course. The squad was below getting into position. Everything was set. Although there was a large clock that would keep an official time, he had his own stopwatch. He had tested countless other squads and individuals. This was his last stop.

The door opened and Captain Grimes walked in, "What the hell is going on, _Cleric_? And don't give me any bullshit about 'classified'. Those are good soldiers you just mind-fucked down there."

"Cleric" born Marcus Chaplain kept his eyes on the course when he said, "I have my orders, same as you Frank."

"What's the point?" Grimes asked. "You really expect them to sprint through that course and take out twenty targets with a one-shot margin of error?"

"Those are the parameters." Below the team entered the course. He started his clock.

"And just what is this about?" Grimes held up one of the paper targets. On it was a man in tattered clothing. His skin was rotting and falling off in places. His arms were extended outward with clawing fingers and his mouth was gaping with broken jagged teeth.

Chaplain turned and glanced at the target. "That's the enemy."

"It's not funny, Chaplain," Grimes said.

Chaplain looked Grimes in the eye, "Believe me, Frank, I agree with you." He looked back down and checked the team's progress against the clock.

"What is going on?" Grimes asked.

Chaplain stared at the course and held up his watch. "Come on, come on," he whispered to himself. The team reached the end of the course with under a second to spare. Chaplain let out a breath and sighed. He turned from the window and tucked his watch back in his pocket. He drew an envelope from a thigh pocket, "Grade 'em and give the go's these orders."

Grimes dropped the target, "You're really playing this game with me? We been battle buddies ten years and this is how you are? What happened to you, man?"

Chaplain sniffed and rubbed at his chin. "You still have that cabin up the mountains?"

Grimes nodded and shrugged, "Yeah, so?"

Chaplain looked down thoughtfully. "At some point I may send you a message. If I do, pack your family, grab some weapons and provisions, and go straight there. Drop everything. No obligation is too important."

"Why?"

Chaplain shook Grimes' hand and headed for the door. "It was good seeing you, Frank."

"Marcus," Grimes said his frustration forgotten as he watched him go, "what's the message?"

Chaplain paused as he went through the door, "Zulu."


	2. Chapter 2

**Z**

"What you are about to see is some of the most classified information in the world."

The lights in the room dimmed. Thirty members of the military turned their attention to a large screen on the wall. A projector clicked to life and a movie began to play. The setting was a small village in what was likely in the third world. A soldier was squaring off with a trio of men. There was no sound but they could see the soldier yelling at them. His language was different but the commands were obvious.

The trio advanced on him, reaching with hooked fingers. Their mouths were open, lips peeled back from their teeth in feral snarls. The soldier backed away, obviously shaken. He fired his weapon into them at point-blank range. The rounds found their mark. Wounds blossomed on their chests and abdomens. The camera caught the spray from the bullet's exits. Still they advanced. The soldier and the camera operator began to retreat, the soldier still firing to no effect.

The camera suddenly dropped to the ground. The image shook violently and the lens cracked. Viewed through the broken optics the soldier tried, with shaking hands, to reload his weapon. The trio was on him before he could. The troops watching the recording could almost hear his scream as he was dragged to the ground.

The silence of the room was broken by gasps and quiet groans as the three men mauled the struggling soldier with their mouths and hands. The soldier's struggles slowed and finally stopped. The screen went black and the lights flashed on. The group watched as the speaker returned. Dressed in a suit, he was familiar to all of them.

"For those of you who are thinking that you've seen this movie on cable, let me provide the assurance that you have not," Chaplain said. "This was recorded at a location in Eastern Europe three days ago. It was recovered yesterday by a team similar to the ones we are going to create today." A hand was raised. "Yes?"

Its owner, a young Black man, stood, "Lance Corporal Christopher Malkin USMC, does this have anything to do with the African Rabies outbreak?"

Chaplain nodded, "To an extent, yes. Before I continue, let's be clear. I am aware that many of you have families back home. I also know that you all are under orders and have signed confidentiality statements but I will reiterate that anything, _anything_ leaks from this place and the consequences will be dire." He started to pace the room. "What you saw was not rabies. What you saw was an, as yet, unknown contagion that renders the infected in a state similar to death. In this state they do two things and two things only. They kill and/or spread the infection." He pointed at the screen. "You've just witnessed the primary method of transmission."

The room was as silent as the grave. The tap-tap of his shoes as he walked was loud and resounding in the large space. "The disease responds to no known treatment and has a one hundred percent mortality rate." Another hand went up. "Yes?"

"Private First-Class Moira Wagner US Army, what about the Phalanx vaccine?" she said.

Chaplain smiled grimly, "The results are still pending but you will be inoculated as a precaution. All of you have been selected to become part of a covert taskforce. The strongest medical minds in the world have been unable to take this thing out therefore it falls to us to buy them more time. Codenamed "Alpha Teams" you will conduct small unit operations in infected areas. Today is in-processing day. You will be issued your equipment and assigned to your units. Once that is complete you will undergo the most rigorous six weeks of training in your military careers. Upon completion of that, you will be deployed into the field."

Reaching the rear of the classroom, Chaplain executed a crisp about-face and started back toward the front. "I'm sure you've noticed that there is more than one branch of service in this room. I'm also sure you've noticed that there is more than one sex. Understand that we are in a crisis situation and there is no room for territorial and/or chauvinistic bullshit. Occupational specialties aside, everyone in this room is an expert marksman, survivalist, and fighter. You all have been to the 'wahoo schools' and, more importantly, you all have passed _my_ assessment. You are all equally vital to this mission. Make sure to treat each other that way. Also understand that while you are called 'alpha' you are not the first. We and the other major powers of this world have teams already in action in various theatres as we speak. You are _joining_ this campaign, not starting it." A hand went up. "Go."

"Specialist Nathan George US Army, are we still calling you 'Cleric'?"

Chaplain smiled, "Since you all now have the clearance, I am Marcus Chaplain, my rank is higher than yours, and I'm not an official member of any branch of service; not that it matters because neither are you. That's all I have. Let's get to work."

Z

"Hey," Moira said as she took a seat next to Nathan. They were outside the setting for their initial briefing, a warehouse within the perimeter of the CIA's training facility affectionately known as "The Farm". The other twenty eight troops of what she was told was the 1st Detachment 34th Special Operations Command were milling around adjusting and inspecting their recently issued equipment.

"Hey yourself," Nathan said as he made room. He placed his duffel bag and rucksack behind him. Moira did the same forming a lopsided square with them in the center. "Everything fit okay?"

Moira nodded, "Amazingly enough this shit comes in child sizes. It's like they knew."

The new uniforms were one-piece jumpsuits that were a dark amalgam of the digitized camouflage sported by the branches of service but featured no unit or rank insignia. The headgear was a matching beret with a black patch on the front. The remainder of their equipment was colored to match. They wore metal identification tags featuring raised barcodes. They also had to surrender their military ID cards. Those, they were told, would be kept "on file".

Moira and Nathan were the only members of their fire team to pass muster. The others either ran out of ammunition or did not eliminate all of their targets. After the evolution, MPs had come to their barracks to collect them. Without a word as to why, they had been placed in the back of a van and driven to an airfield where they were tossed in the back of a cargo plane and flown to The Farm. Once there they were met by the formally dressed Chaplain who had explained their situation.

"So where did you end up?" Nathan asked.

"Team Five," Moira said, "you?"

"Team One," Nathan replied. He saw the disappointment on her face and gave her knee a pat. "Don't worry, you'll be fine."

Moira gave him a worried look and shook her head. "You know that's not true," she replied. "Shooting that target was an _accident_." She thought back to the course. She was on point and a threat presented itself. It was an infected version of the little girl from the first evolution. The pressure of the moment led her to open fire when her rational mind wanted her to hesitate.

"You still did it," Nathan said. "You recognized the danger and took action. Conscious or no it was the right call."

"I'm afraid that I might not be able to make that call in the field," Moira said.

Nathan shrugged, "Then you have a choice to make. Go and tell Chaplain what happened or you can square yourself away, learn from the experience and drive on. I would be comfortable going into battle with you but only if _you're _comfortable going into battle with you." He picked up a small paperback book that was over two hundred pages. It had been the first item of issue. "Have you read any of this?"

Moira nodded.

"And you don't think you could pull the trigger?" Nathan asked. He flipped through the pages. "This is some sick and twisted shit. No matter what they look like, we are doing these people a favor."

Moira held up her hands, "You're right, you're right. I'd just feel better with you watching my back."

"Hey, likewise sister, but we gots our orders," Nathan said. He picked up a sleeve of elasticized nylon that featured hard padding on the front and back. "Does this go on my arm or my leg?"

"Your leg over your boots," Moira said. She watched him pull on one and then the other.

Nathan strapped on a set of knee pads next. Then he pulled on a pair of gauntlets that were similar to the lower leg armors. After strapping on elbow pads, he picked up his flak jacket. It was lighter than any other body armor he had worn. Slipping it over his shoulders, he secured it and patted the front. He shrugged his shoulders a few times and was confused.

"Not a lot of trauma plating in this stuff," he said.

"Our enemy doesn't use conventional weapons," a man said. Completely geared up he was also wearing leather gloves with armored knuckles and a form-fitted Kevlar helmet. He extended a hand. "Sergeant Dwayne Hicks _former_ USMC since we've joined the spook train, you are Specialist George, correct?"

Nathan accepted the handshake, "Yes, Sergeant."

Hicks nodded, "Good. I'm your Team Leader. The rest of the group is rallying inside. We've got a few bits of paperwork to finalize and then we ship out for training at fifteen hundred hours."

"Already?" asked Nathan, surprised.

Hicks shrugged, "Chaplain did say it was a crisis situation. Finish up here and be inside the meeting hall in ten."

"Yes Sergeant," Nathan replied. He watched his new commanding officer head away before turning back to Moira.

"No rest for the weary," she said with a half-smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Z**

_…And that's how it started. After rallying with my team it was whirlwind of hard training in facilities and on posts all over the country; the importance of our success constantly hammered into our heads. When it was over we had twenty-four hours to decompress before orders came down from whatever served as our command. Bye-bye Fort Bragg, hello first mission._

_You might wonder why I'm choosing to do this, write to you. Truth is, with all the secrecy you're the only one I can talk to. I know what Chaplain said but walking around with this inside me, not able to tell friends and family, it's a heavy load. Not that my friends or my family would believe me. Sometimes I have trouble believing it myself. Anyway, our first mission took us across the world. We piggy-backed on a unit of grunts heading towards the Ukraine/Russian border in response to Russian aggression. Once there we took a right-step from the ranks and hopped a bird heading nowhere…_

The ride was bumpy as the Blackhawk fought turbulent winds while it descended to the proper altitude. The pilot worked with icy cool as the craft threatened continuously to send them crashing to the ground. The clouds around them suddenly disappeared revealing a sprawling landscape that would feature green rolling hills dotted with crags of dark rock and shiny rivers of obsidian water were it not for the early hour. The insertion point was just five miles out. Without looking, the co-pilot flicked a switch.

Inside the hold a yellow light blinked into existence. A soldier sitting directly beneath took notice and held up five fingers to indicate the number of minutes before deployment. Moving together he and his cohorts went to the sides of the craft. Two members of the Blackhawk's crew opened the side doors before taking up assault rifles and pulling on night-vision goggles. Each of the four members of 1-34's Team One clipped the end of a length of rope onto a support cleat on the chopper's roof. They checked their equipment to ensure it was properly secured to their bodies before waiting for the next order.

The Blackhawk cleared a copse of trees before settling over an open field. There was another few seconds before a green light flashed in the hold. Team One let their lines fall from the chopper before standing and clipping themselves to their individual ropes. When the last man was secured, they rappelled down. Above, the two members of the Blackhawk crew covered their descent. Once the last man was down and off-rope they sent word to the pilots who lifted away.

Z

Nathan lay prone in the cold grass of his first foreign country. They were in Eastern Europe somewhere in the middle of the borders that made up Hungary, Romania, and Ukraine. There were not sure where exactly. The briefing had been purposely vague. Political climates were stormy at present and their mission had not been officially sanctioned.

Team One was to move to a nearby village and collect a scientist working at a facility that no one was supposed to know about. The surrounding area had been overrun by the disease and the facility had ceased communicating with the outside world. The United Nations was certain that their asset had made some sort of progress concerning the virus. That progress was needed at all cost. Satellite images of the surrounding area showed that the number of infected was steadily growing. They had been given a twenty-four hour window to accomplish their mission. The clock had started the second their boots hit the dirt.

Remembering his training, Nathan kept his eyes ahead and his ears open for any sign that their incursion had been noticed by any infected. His training; Chaplain had not been lying. He still had aches and pains from the previous six weeks. They had trained in almost every conceivable environment in locations all over the country and always in total secret. It was very isolating. Still, the time served to get him better acquainted with his new team.

His team leader, Hicks, was from a small town in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. He was a blond-haired, blue-eyed all-American hillbilly who loved pickup trucks and country music. The former Marine was a blunt no-nonsense commander who gave everyone equal parts respect and loyalty that was theirs to lose. When asked about the coincidence of his name with the character from the famous sci-fi blockbuster, he would just shrug it off, "That guy was badass and so am I."

Second-in-command was a Corporal and a former soldier from Fort Benning by the name of Kelly. He was standard infantry who had graduated from the Army Rangers and that was after Sniper School. The green-eyed ginger was wiry and quick of body and mind. He had a knack for camouflage, land navigation, and getting into hard-to-access places that made him perfect for reconnaissance.

Next was an Airman-First Class, plucked from an experimental platoon at Para-Rescue School. Melina Cruz was the smallest of the group but she was also the smartest. Her body was like Kelly's, lean and honed razor sharp. Cruz had been fresh out of high school before aiming high for Uncle Sam. Nineteen years old, she was the youngest of the unit, but hers was the greatest responsibility. She shouldered that burden well, maintaining an almost Zen-like calm at all times. There were no lines of worry on her stern features, no strain at the corners of her hazel eyes. Everything was everything to her.

And then there was Nathan. The son of a mechanic he had joined the Army's cadre of Combat Engineers choosing to expand on his skill-set and take on and complete Sapper School. Aside from his military specialty he was a whiz with anything on four wheels. He had youthful chiseled features with dark brown hair, brown eyes and a capable build.

The team had bonded during their six weeks of hell. Each member had a role to fill and they had come to trust each other fill it. Nathan risked a glance at his visible team members. They might not be his group from Sapper School, but they would do. Movement at the tree-line in the distance caught his eye. His grip tensed on his rifle but his night-vision scope revealed the threat to be a highly dangerous bunny rabbit.

An hour later, the sun rose and Hicks gave the order for the unit to move. They trotted from the field into the tree line where they moved silently for a mile and a half before assembling inside a small draw. Weapons trained in all directions, Kelly produced his operations map and got their bearings. Now that they were in-country, it was time to get to work.

"So where are we?" Hicks asked.

"We are here," Kelly said, indicating their position on the map. "Our objective is here."

"Three klicks east," Hicks concluded. "SAT images have this whole area crawling with infected."

"And we're smack in the middle," Kelly said with a nod.

"Right," Hicks said, glancing around. "You're on point no further than fifty meters, no noise. Nate and I will take the rear."

Z

The team moved at a fast but measured pace. They avoided roads and populated areas. Reports had come in of residents of the areas fleeing toward the more densely populated urban centers. None of the refugees had any idea how real the danger was or even what it was. Seeing a specialized military team from America would do nothing good. Best-case, they would encounter resistance and end up in the custody of local law enforcement. Worst-case, the skittish residents would attempt to kill them and take their gear.

It was just after noon that they reached the outskirts of their objective, a village whose name that none of the team could spell but would translate to "little paradise". With its quaint old-world architecture and towering mountains in the distance, it was something out of a postcard. Intel had the population somewhere near seven hundred people. Taking up concealed positions in a field dotted with stacks of hay, they observed the cozy hamlet for any signs of life. The roads leading into the town were lined with makeshift signs warning people to steer clear of the place. There was no pedestrian traffic on the streets. What homes they could see had boarded up windows and doors.

"What do you think Sarge?" Kelly asked.

Hicks kept looking through his binoculars but finally lowered them. "The place looks deserted. Let's get a bird's eye view."

Kelly and Nathan moved off to one side. From inside Kelly's rucksack they removed and assembled pieces of a miniature helicopter drone. After checking the remote-controlled servos, Kelly primed the craft's small engine and launched it into the air. He used a nearby field to gain altitude before flying it toward the village.

Sitting on the ground, Kelly activated a forward-mounted camera displayed on his controller. "Okay," he said, "starting the first pass."

Hicks moved in behind him and stared down at the small screen. The view was boring at first. He could see the rooftops of the buildings and the cobblestone streets. There was nothing in the way of vehicle or pedestrian traffic. Signs of animal life were nil.

"All right, sweep out to the west and then come back around." Hicks crouched and watched as the view changed. On the way back the plane passed over a barn and a pasture. There was a horse in the field lying on its side surrounded by people. The grass around it was stained brown. Moving from the field the plane's camera captured more people moving toward the horse.

"Something about that don't seem right, Sarge," Kelly said.

"Switch to thermal," Hicks said.

It being early morning, the ground had not yet been warmed by the sun. The body of the horse glowed faintly as it gave off its last vestiges of heat. The people in the field vanished, their presence revealed only by their movement. Kelly continued his sweep revealing more wandering citizens… citizens whose body temperatures mirrored their surroundings.

"Did you get a count?" Hicks asked.

"There's about fifty," Kelly said.

"It's the horse that's keeping them around," Cruz said. "Otherwise they would've moved off like the others."

"Agreed," Hicks said. "We move into the village. Stealth is the name of the game. We can't have even one of them giving away our position." He turned back to the screen. "Pass over the facility entrance."

Still on thermal, the camera's eye spotted a massive plot of land that was far warmer than the surrounding terrain. At the center there was a lone house. There were four other homes at the outskirts of the warm patch of dirt. Despite the lack of life, the chimneys of the houses were still venting heated air. The helicopter hovered over one of the houses.

"That's the entrance closest to us," Kelly said. He spiraled the aircraft outward from there. "I see maybe ten contacts." He banked toward their position. There's a small rise three hundred yards out that has sufficient cover. I can thin the herd a bit from there."

Hicks nodded. "Nate will cover you. Cruz and I will stage at the village perimeter and move on your go."

_…I remember running through that field thinking about the people in the village. What had gone through their minds when the virus reached them? Had they known it was coming? Did they try to escape and these were the unlucky ones? Did the local government try to render aid or were the people left to fend for themselves? More than anything I wondered what our government would do if this was a hamlet in the middle of nowhere U.S.A._

_Kelly was not one for thoughts like that. His mind never strayed too far from the here and now. I remember watching him prepare his nest. He chose the best cover with the best view. He drew his M24 from its case like a samurai. I thought, "Here is a man that considers his work a craft more than a profession"…_

Kelly sighted down his scope finding Hicks and Cruz as they took cover behind a low stone wall. Thirty yards ahead of them four of Kelly's ten infected shambled around going nowhere. The Ranger put a hand to his throat mike. "Point this is Kelly COM check."

"Loud and clear, Kelly," Hicks replied. "Waiting for your go."

"Copy," Kelly murmured. He shifted his aim downrange. His thumb disengaged the safety. He took a deep breath, centering his crosshairs on the head one of the infected closest to Hicks and Cruz. It was a woman once; young and probably beautiful. His exhalation was quiet. His finger squeezed. The rifle's bark was reduced to a whine. The woman's cursed existence ended in a spray of blood and brain-matter. Kelly let fly two more times before reaching back to his throat. "Go!"

"Move up and rally at the facility entrance," Hicks ordered. He and Cruz vaulted the wall and took off in tight staggered formation. Each responsible for one hundred-eighty degrees. Their movements were smooth and mechanical, muscle-memory taking over. They took down targets when necessary, clearing a path to a small one-story home. Kelly fired shots ahead twice helping to maintain their forward progress and their concealment. Once they reached the house, they took up positions at the entrance, watching the road for more targets.

Among the buildings, the stench of rotting flesh dominated the air becoming worse with even the slightest breeze. In the void left by the recent activity, the atmosphere felt charged. Their weapons constantly sweeping, they expected the doors of the nearby homes to open up and the populace, infected and moaning, to come for them. What they got was Kelly and Nathan trotting up to meet them.

"How many did you take?" Kelly asked.

"We got six," Cruz said.

Kelly gestured with his chin. "Nate popped one in the field on the way down. Bastard came up outta the tall grass. Our Sapper's got good reflexes."

Hicks jerked a thumb behind him. "Before we crown him queen of battle, let's see if he can get us in this door."

Nathan moved forward, the others covering his sides and rear. Going into his butt pack he removed a small device similar to a computer tablet. Before him, the door looked like a regular rickety wooden portal. Rap a knuckle against it and it was revealed to be made of heavily armored metal. The knob was a fingerprint reader that would allow access to those with proper clearance.

Attaching the tablet to the door via a hidden USB port in the lock, Nathan accessed the records of their asset and applied images of his prints. There was a beep and the door slid aside with a hiss of air. Nathan stuffed the tablet back into his pack and snatched up his M4. He activated a flashlight mounted under the barrel and stepped inside. The rest of the group drained in after him, the door closing after Kelly stepped through.

Inside, the home consisted of three rooms. There was the living space, where the troops were standing. To the left was a small kitchen, to the right an even smaller bedroom that had two bunks and an empty weapons rack dominating one of the walls. There were a few loose rounds on the floor but no other signs of life.

"Okay, now what?" Cruz asked.

There was another hiss and the entire fireplace and chimney slid to one side revealing an elevator car. The inside was clean and anachronistically modern. The four soldiers raised their weapons, the sudden display startling them.

"That was supposed to be called from here, Sarge," Nathan said.

Kelly looked around the room. "I guess they can see us."

Hicks stepped into the car. "Let's go folks."

The group filed in after him, awkwardly carrying their weapons in the small space.

"Is this weirding anyone else out?" Kelly asked.

"All we've been through and _this_ is weirding you out?" Cruz asked as the doors closed.

_…Kelly was right. One minute we're in a village that had just graduated from the dark ages and the next we're in a state-of-the-art elevator heading underground. All things aside it was a little weird._

_The weirdness continued when we reached bottom. The doors opened onto a brightly-lit hallway. The place looked and smelled like a hospital but it was just as quiet as up top. There was no welcome wagon, no security detail. Moving on high alert we passed fully functional labs with no scientists. What was even more disturbing was the lack of… anything. There were no clues as to what happened. It seemed like everybody had just up and left. That left the question of who opened the door. Then we found the body…_

Cruz knelt next to the dead man. He was seated against a wall wearing shirtsleeves, slacks and a lab coat. The right side of his head was smashed in. Next to him was a broken microscope.

"He's dead," Cruz said. "Whether or not he was infected, I don't know."

"I think the method of dispatch makes it obvious," Kelly said.

"What's the plan, Sarge?" Nathan asked.

Hicks looked down the hallway. "Somebody sent that elevator. We'll find them and get a sit-rep on our target. If he's compromised, we get copies of his work and then bug out."

Nathan moved down the hallway and found a floor plan mounted on the wall. He pointed. "The control room is probably here in the middle of the complex."

Hicks nodded. "Then that's where we're going. Lead the way."

The squad followed Nathan along the corridor before turning left twice and traveling down a flight of stairs that reminded Nathan of the steps on the course where Chaplain had found him. Five minutes later they came to a secured door. The letters on the door were in Cyrillic. Nathan used his tablet to defeat the lock, stepping aside as Cruz and Kelly went through first. Standing together, they trained their weapons on the head of a man sitting at a large console beneath a bank of screens. He was still for a few agonizing seconds before slowly raising his hands.

"I can assure you those weapons are not yet necessary," he said in a heavy Slavic accent.

"Redwood," Hicks said; a challenge phrase.

"Blackbird," the man said. He chuckled. "Though it seems pointless now." He slowly turned his chair around to face them. "I am Doctor Anton Petrovich." He was in his fifties with pale skin, shiny black hair, angular features and black eyes that seemed to glitter behind his spectacles.

Hicks lowered his weapon along with the others. "We're your ride, Doctor."

"American," Petrovich said. "I see they've changed the uniform since you were last here."

"When was that?" asked Kelly.

Petrovich regarded him with a stare that was almost reptilian. "It was about eighteen months ago."

"What happened here?" Nathan asked.

"This facility was originally built after World War II for the development of bio-weapons," Petrovich explained. "It was refitted during the Cold War and its function was switched solely to research only to be abandoned after the fall of the Soviet Union. We were moved here two years ago and the grisly work was taken up again."

"I meant-"

Petrovich held up a hand. "I know what you meant young man." He sighed. "I am aware of what has happened at the surface and in the surrounding countryside."

"What happened to the security that was assigned to this post?" Hicks asked.

Petrovich leaned forward, hands on his knees. "It is a funny thing to be dealing with so great a threat but be unable to warn those around you. A wave of infected came from Koviarsh, a village not far from here. They numbered only twenty but they quickly overwhelmed the local police. Our security forces reacted humanely and tried to help. The remaining five fled a day after the initial chaos."

"The work you're doing here is important, Doctor," Cruz said. "None of them thought to stick around?"

Petrovich smiled grimly. "This place is damned. You can see it. You can _feel_ it." He turned and pressed a few keys on the console. The largest screen behind his head flickered to life revealing a view inside the facility's infirmary. There a dozen people wandered around the space. The walls and floor were awash with blood.

Kelly stepped back. "Jesus H. Christ."

Petrovich nodded. "Indeed. One of our own was infected by a test subject and declined to mention it. It took all of us to subdue him. We… are not soldiers." He raised the right sleeve of his lab coat revealing a heavily stained bandage. "I have received every transmission sent by the United Nations. I neglected to answer because I knew they would send you. I had to hope that you would arrive before I would be unable to finish my work." He reached into his pocket and produced a thumb drive. "Here is everything I was able to learn."

Nathan stepped forward and took the drive. "You want us to…"

Petrovich shook his head. "The facility will take care of that."

Hicks frowned. "How?"

"It was built to contain the worst plagues in the history of mankind," Petrovich said. "There is a protocol for containment in the event of a catastrophe. When you reach the surface, I will activate it."

_…We left him there, in the bowels of the Earth. As soon as we hit the surface we cleared the village returning to Kelly's sniper's nest. We felt it as Hicks called for EVAC; a low rumble that shook the grass against the wind. Flames shot into the air as the homes built atop the facility were destroyed in massive explosions so hot they ignited everything around them. I remember seeing infected completely ablaze; walking around until the flames caused them to collapse like puppets with their strings cut._

_In the end everything in that place was reduced to ash. On the ride back we sat in silence. The chopper's crew tried to stick us for information. Even if we weren't under orders, we weren't in the mood for chatter._

_I stared out the window, Petrovich's last words replaying in my mind…_

_"You have my sympathy. This plague is more than an epidemic, more than a pandemic, it is a threat to humanity. It is no coincidence that you were sent instead of men of science. Science had its chance. Now it is your turn. I pray you are up to the task because, make no mistake, mankind is at war. And, God have mercy, you are _losing_."_

**The**

**End**


End file.
